


Catering His Needs

by Arithanas



Series: The Count and his Valet [17]
Category: Les Trois Mousquetaires | The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas
Genre: Anal Play, Cock Rings, M/M, Orgasm Control, Rimming, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-06
Updated: 2015-03-06
Packaged: 2018-03-16 13:33:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3490139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arithanas/pseuds/Arithanas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1649, Blois. Coming home means to address many issues that had remained pending and others that will be presented soon. Almost PWP - Grimaud POV.<br/>DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. The author is aware that BSDM is a lifestyle and the characters are shown participating in a consensual play for their own personal satisfaction. All characters are 18 years old or older. Dumas & Maquet’s work is public domain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Catering His Needs

_Many of us crucify ourselves between two thieves_  
\- regret for the past and fear of the future.  
~ Fulton Oursler

 

Returning to Bragelonne after the last few months seemed a blessing to me. My master also seemed to want to be back at home, if we consider the speed at which he whipped up his horse. From Beaugency onwards, the Count almost rode standing up in the stirrups, with his knees slightly bent, such was his haste to return to the house that he despised for so long. My old nag had problems following that stud at breakneck speed, but I was not going to complain if that allowed me to see my master from behind. My body tired easily in this advanced age, but my mind was young and knew very well what to do with the image of that compact and taut rear end.  
  
The evening began to fall when we saw the tops of the sycamores, my master stopped long enough for me to arrive by his side and to reward me with a smile for my speed. Covered with dust and sweat, he almost seemed to have half his age. His eyes seemed calm; anyone else —except Raoul, perhaps― would think that he had no concern in life. I was sure that something was nagging him, but those serene features warned me that he was not ready to talk. The time would come when he would make me a partaker of the secret, if it was his will, for the time being, I contented myself with making the sign of "Welcome Home" with my hands.  
  
“Speak, you dumb scoundrel!”  
  
I bowed, and he rode home.  
  
Sometimes, I wish that he return to his old habit of beat me, because his words sting worse than his punches. I try to be patient, knowing that his lash only meant that he was worried about something, not he wanted to hurt me. However, as my nag followed his horse through the gate, I muttered through clenched teeth that my master had to take his own advice; but my ill humor was short lived, it was enough for me see my kitchen-gardens and my trellised jasmine to feel full of gratitude for being home again...

***

It was impossible to know the status of the mansion after the master had spent so many months away, but the Count insisted on knowing the most important events and to settle accounts with Charlot, who had been appointed guardian of the property on behalf of his master. They spent long hours in the salon discussing how the Count would resume Bragelonne matters in his hands. I knew my presence was not required, so I took the opportunity to shake off the dust of the road, to wash myself, and to prepare what was necessary for my master might have the same comfort.  
  
It was almost midnight when the master of the house retired to his room. I waited there, with clean clothes and tepid water — until a few hours, it had been hot — it was part of my service’s duties. My presence surprised my master; I guess he thought I had already retired for the night. In the penumbra of his chamber, I helped him to remove his traveling clothes, all dusty and wrinkled, and as I did it, I kept wondering why he had not removed them when he arrived home. He soon was in shirt sleeves and I pointed to the bowl, as if asking if he wanted to wash. He shook his head as he stood beside the dressing table.  
  
“I know you're tired, Grimaud,” my master muttered as he removed his sweat-stained shirt, “but, tonight, I would like another service from you...”  
  
His hand made a couple of decidedly obscene gestures, even for anyone who does not know our code. My body reacted before my mind had time to do so. Rather vigorously, I must add. I'd be a liar if I said I did not find the idea appealing, but for years he had not asked that from me, and my mind wondered why. The answer would have to wait, because, no matter how kindly my master has submitted his order, he had commanded and I was ready to obey.  
  
I bowed and approached his naked and mistreated body.  
  
That night I had the rare pleasure of touching the usually neat body of my master while he was road-dirty. He knew me very well, he knew the scent of his body and the smell of horse sweat clinging to his skin ignited my most animal passions. My master's hand touched my shoulder as if he acknowledged my willingness, prior to push me away from his body.  
  
“What are you waiting for?” He asked trying to conceal his good humor. “Strip off!”  
  
I tried to smile, but I was feeling that old shame. It was ridiculous after so many years attending his needs, but old habits die hard. As I got rid of my clothes, my master opened a small lacquered box that sat next to the washbasin, and pulled out a strip of leather which tied around his balls and his still-soft cock. Had I been a little less excited, it could have stopped me cold; fortunately, it didn’t have that effect.  
  
I found myself caressing his nipples with my tongue, my hands massaged his back and I was rewarded with a contented sigh. My master did not hurry me, he let me play with his chest hair and go down to my knees before him at my own pace. That was my favorite position. That position made me salivate, my master’s lower belly looked really tasty and I always had trouble deciding where to start licking, especially when there was not a beautiful, engorged cock in front of my eyes.  
  
As there was no hurry, for my master was not impatient, I placed my hands on his hips and passed my tongue over his groin crease, extracting a pleased groan from his throat. I tasted the salt in my tongue and proceed to lick beneath the leather strap, savoring those bits of skin that normally suffer by my negligence. This way pleased my master; I can tell by the soft sounds that escaped his throat and by his hand caressing my hair. That touch... no, any touch was enough to spur me.  
  
I let my tongue wander around his tied balls, caressing the skin, trying to get more reactions. I nuzzled his naughty bits while my hands fondled his rump and thighs, and my move was rewarded with some heavy breathing on his part. This was music for my ears. I caressed the piece of skin between his legs; I knew that never left him unmoved. My gentle strokes obtained from him an almost indecent moan. To my delight, I felt his wick stirred up against my cheek.  
  
With my hands firmly in his ass, I dedicated myself to caress with wet tongue his length, getting the indulgent pleasure of feel every irregularity in the shaft, savoring the taste of his skin, noting each of the pulses and twitches, before closing my lips around the head. Slowly, my tongue went inside the hood, using the tip to caress the contour and to retract the skin on the helmet. My hands felt my master’s thrills which were caused by my bawdy conduct.  
  
I opened my mouth as much as possible and bring out my tongue to its full extent before raising my eyes to him. He looked at me as if expecting me to start swallowing his shaft, or sucking the head. He had always liked that image, but I just stayed there looking at him with ―I knew very well that he would never believe it— my most innocent expression. His response was to put his hand on my neck, encouraging me to continue, for my part, I tried to pull his hip. It was good that we communicate so well without words.  
  
“We are lazy today, eh?” My master said before putting both hands on my head and push his cock in my mouth.  
  
I closed my lips around his girth. It was more convenient for me that he set the rhythm. I could do several things at once, but I had a limit. That way I could massage his backside and lick his shaft at the same time. For the task in hand, his compact rear had to be really relaxed, and that was hard work, after so many hours on horseback. Then, with sudden clarity, my mind recalled the first sign and, as my master happily pushed his hardness in my throat, I realized there was something else I had to take care.  
  
If I could talk, surely I would have muttered some coarse remark.  
  
Actually, I did not mind licking every inch of his skin, I even enjoyed the taste of sweat; however, the tallow of a one-week trip was too much for me. Gropingly, I explored the surface of the table, looking for the cleaning cloth. With my fingertips, I recognized the fabric and tried to soak in the water of the washbasin, which I managed to do with some effort, as my master had both hands behind my head, hindering my movements.  
  
My master could scold me later, if he wanted.  
  
My hand between his buttocks drew a surprised exclamation. I suspect it was due to the cold water. He stopped his motion, and I took the opportunity to scrub that concealed spot, gently, but real good.  
  
“Hmm... pleasant...” he said restarting his rocking motion.  
  
Since he did not care, I kept rubbing his butt with the wet cloth to make sure it was clean. Better safe than sorry.  
  
My knees were tired, but I can endure the discomfort for I felt that taste on my tongue and knew they were flavorful drops issued by his balls, not the wet proof of his pleasure, but the clear liquid that preceded it. Knowing that he was enjoying my attentions, as passive as they were, was very exciting. My tongue began to caress him and, before I knew it, I started to suck his cock, apparently with some force, since my master's hands rested on my forehead to keep me away from his body.  
  
“Enough!” The order was brief and did not leave any doubt about his intention. I opened my mouth.  
  
I sat on my ankles, frustrated; I was starting to enjoy the situation. I threw the rag on the ground, balled my hand and wiped my mouth with the forearm. The clicking of my master’s tongue brought me back to my responsibilities. As I grumbled, he had removed the duvet, uncovering the sheets that I had just changed and he was standing next to the bed, giving me a privileged view of his back, buttocks and legs. The candlelight gave his skin a golden tone and highlighted his muscles and narrow waist.  
  
I knew what he wanted; he had expressed it very clearly. The surprised was that my frustration only served to make me crave those beautiful hindquarters. Oh, Lord... I felt I could worship his ass for hours. Slowly, I kissed him between his shoulder blades, which made him shudder. I ran my tongue down his spine, my hands in his hips as my knees started to bend and was rewarded with some satisfied groans. On the small of his back, I applied some quick kisses before I placed the tip of my tongue on his natal cleft and ran it to the dimples near his waist.

 

My master showed some impatience and put his right knee on the bed to get my attention to his rump. Heeding the call, I kissed his buttocks and massaged his tights. I tried to decide if I keep kissing it or I should start nibbling the fleshy parts; since I could not make a choice, I did both.  
  
At the right time, my fingers caressed the sides of the buttocks and used my thumbs to make my way to his bud. My nose recognized the scent and found it compelling, it was a strong, pungent aroma of male flesh; I approached my face and prepared to give him a long lick. I barely noticed the sour and salty taste on my tongue, when my master stiffened with a little surprised gasp.  
  
“Eh?” I regretted that I could not gather my thoughts to be more verbose.  
  
“Beard,” said between gasps, his voice sounded as if trying to stifle a chuckle.  
  
Without thinking, I touched my face and felt the _royale_ that I had grown before entering Vincennes. I had forgotten about it, because I was sporting it for over a year in my master’s presence and his silence seemed a tacit consent to keep it.  
  
“It’s all right,” he decreed and leaned over the bed for support. “It causes a nice, tingling sensation... rather unexpected, though.”  
  
I continued my work, using my hands to try to guess where to put my tongue. I began to head down, licking the skin strip of way to his balls. The taste was less strong, more pleasant and enticing. The number of shudders grown. I could have spent hours getting my pleasure from licking that inch but the hand of my master, fierce as usual, took me by the hair and, without words, he made me understand that his interest was upwards.  
  
He let me go once he felt my mouth in that almost banned area; I let my tongue roam between the two mounds, savoring the taste, hearing his grunts and the way in which my mustache brushed against his skin. It was difficult trying not to laugh at the thought of my beard tickling that so hidden place. I could not help it, while my tongue was the edge of the ring I started to chortle at that amusing idea.  
  
“Grimaud,” the voice of my master, between clenched teeth, was a warning.  
  
I collected my wits with some effort, it was so hard... long licks on his puckered entrance helped me concentrate and, no doubt, they help him to get distracted, if his panting served as an indication. When I started to rub the edge with the tip of my tongue I could feel that he leaned forward, giving me more room to work. I teased the opening with a flick; at the same time I imagined the blush that surely covered his face. My mind was filled with lewd images because from where I was, there was little I could see.  
  
As he was relaxing, the entry was slowly opening allowing me to go further; Orders came to my ears, his voice low and throaty, urging me to continue. I tried to please him, using my tongue into the tender flesh that had just left exposed and of which knew its damp, ripe flavor. Tremors and groans were the result of my efforts; I kept twisting my tongue inner edge of the ring. My master seemed pleased with my dedication for he responded to each new lick with a jerk of his hips; therefore I was stunned when the next order was not to encourage me.  
  
“Stop!” He reinforced his order, separating his ass of my eager mouth.  
  
“Why?” I dared to protest, for I was getting tired of feeling frustrated.  
  
“I was close...” he panted. His face, covered with sweat, was on the sheet. “So close...”  
  
I already knew that, and I understood that that was the purpose of all this work. I groaned, sitting on the floor, ignoring my own excitement because my mind was completely focused on his, and that he would not let me give him pleasure until he reached his satisfaction. My lack of understanding only increased my disappointment.  
  
My master sat on the bed, panting; his hair clung to his face in wet tufts. After a few moments, he stood up and passed me; his dick, erect and still tied, was a temptation and I was unable to keep my eyes from follow him. Ignoring my gaze, my master opened a cabinet and checked its contents at a glance. My master took a box from the inside and not bothering to close the door back to where I was. I raised my eyes to his face, asking what was we were going to do. It was too dark to see his face, but I noticed that his hand was extended toward me, in there was a wooden box, less ornate than those who had scattered throughout the room.  
  
“Use it”  
  
I did not understand, he left me to realize what he meant as he climbed into bed. I opened the box, inside, on a folded piece of linen, was a strange object and a jar of ointment. I took the object was made of wood and soft to touch, it seemed to be covered by a layer of resin; the surface was smooth, but there were signs of the tools work on it, it was homemade. The form reminded me a dick and I wondered what my master had an object with that shape. We do not need such help yet.  
  
My master's voice calling made me get off the floor. I had to obey, of course, even if this was something different from my usual repertoire; I had no idea how to use this new tool, although I had an idea. He was lying in bed, face down, comfortably resting on a pillow and another under his hips; he was a treat for my lustful eyes. I kissed the small of his back as my hands took off the lid of the jar of ointment. As soon as I opened it, the scent of chamomile and rose assaulted my nose. How clever on his part. While kissing his ass, I took an amount of ointment to rub it out on the ring; it must have felt cold, he shivered, but it melted on his skin, and soon the entire area was slippery.  
  
I continued stroking the tip of my finger, while my ears enjoyed the whispers coming from his throat, before entering with all the care I could. I diverted my attention from his butt, because I loved seeing how he reacted to the intrusion. My master had raised his head, leaning his weight on his elbows and, almost imperceptibly, his legs parted. At such sample of his willingness, I began to explore inside, pretty relaxed for my previous care. The way quickly became open as my fingers could caress the inside without any effort for our part. The sight was so exciting that I had allowed me to stroke my dick with my free hand and felt its hardness increased with each beat.  
  
“Stick it in,” my master ordered me speaking under his breath.  
  
I was about to jump into bed, ready to take him, when I remembered that he was not referring to me or what I was touching, but that wooden toy. Thwarted again, I carried my hand to the tool, I could not deny that it was pleasant to the touch, but I resented it. This wooden shaft was almost a personal insult to my virility. However, I took a little more of ointment and rubbed it on the surface.  
  
I used one of my hands to separate his cheeks and placed the rounded end against the opening. There was little candle light, so I had to be careful and proceed with tact. Almost without applying force, began to slide into my master, as my eyes in the poor light paid attention to the operation. It proved to be tremendously arousing, for me and for my master, who let me experience this new pleasure before placing his hand on mine and correct the way I had been using it.  
  
“There,” he muttered when I push the toy inside, it must have brushed that place that always gave him great pleasure. “A little bit faster...”  
  
I was happy to oblige. See him enjoy being buggered by that piece of wood was an obscene and appealing image, the way he wrung his hips to match the pace of the shaft that penetrates him was even better that to do it myself; I almost felt bad to have a free hand to jack off. In order to not to get carried, I tried not to touch me, but stroked his back and fondled his ass. My master did no heed me, and that selfish pursuit of his own pleasure, overjoyed me in ways that I could not explain, enough to say that, if he had obtained his satisfaction and had kicked me out of his bed, I would have been fulfilled.  
  
Too soon, he decided that his toy was not enough and his hand stopped mine; his body, covered in sweat, glistened in the light of the single candle next to his bed; one look was enough to figure out what he wanted. Without words, I withdrew the object from his insides and climbed the bed, taking a little more ointment to make sure my cock would slide nicely in his chute. I knelt between his legs while he removed the pillow that had served as support.  
  
Slowly, my dick headed off towards the narrow passage that we had so well prepared, and I used my finger to be certain I would no poke his rear blindly, and push the head through the eyelet. My master gave a strained grunt and his hands balled the sheet. I stopped in my tracks, remembering that it was not an activity in which he participated frequently. Lying almost on top of his quivering flesh, afraid to move out of fear of hurting him, I waited.  
  
“Master?”  
  
My master took a few deep breaths, his right leg rested on the mattress, tilting his hip, to change the angle of my thrusts; I settled my leg over this leg, eager to make the act more comfortable for him. My hands stroked his arm, and I allowed myself to kiss his shoulder. At that time, my master released the leather strap that bound his genitals and the inside his tunnel contracted and relaxed rhythmically, massaging my captive cock.  
  
“Long, slow and deep, Grimaud,” he commanded, there was a faint smile in his face. “We both are tired tonight.”  
  
I obeyed, burying my prick in his firm ass, feeling how his insides squeezed me. I moaned, he groaned. He extended his hand to hold on the sheets again while my arm stroked his, soon my hand was over his.  
  
With our fingers intertwined, I felt happy, truly at home.

***

  
The last candle went out with a sizzle in the melted wax. It does not mattered, we did not need its light, my master and I could get between the rumpled sheets by sheer touch. My master's breathing was a bit agitated; definitely we were too old for that kind of entertainment. I did not want to disturb his joy, but the sweat began to dry on our bare skin. I had to leave him to cover us with sheets and the duvet.  
  
Half asleep, my master let me hug him again and caress his neck with my cheek. He even responded to my caress before resting still as he was preparing to sleep. I placed my head on the pillow, determined to leave him alone and to get a bit of rest for me. The room was really quiet; I believe that for that reason I could hear what he whispered into his pillow.  
  
“She’ll come.”  
  
By the way he said it I felt a shudder of horror, although I did not understand who he was talking about. For a moment, my mind flew to the memory of his wife and —by my honor and a cross— I felt the hair on my neck stood on end. Then, recognizing that all that was unfounded fears, I pulled myself together and hugged my master a little more.  
  
“Who?” I asked in his ear, trying not to disturb the silence of the room.  
  
“Raoul’s mother,” he answered with an ease that only emphasized how terrible it was for him.  
  
I closed my eyes and leaned my forehead against his neck; my left arm went under his arm and patted his chest. I was trying to gain time, because whatever I said at that time would only worsen his pain.  
  
“Will you be alright?”  
  
“I suppose.”  
  
“I'm willing to sleep here every night she stays in Bragelonne."  
  
“Thank you... There is no need, though...”  
  
My words did not seem to work, so the only thing I could do was start rocking him, like I do when he had a nightmare. I just hoped that it could reassure him now...


End file.
